


Unstoppable

by JaqRabbit



Series: Paranormal One Piece [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, F/M, Horror, Paranormal, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6380266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqRabbit/pseuds/JaqRabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dark eyes become divine; I need the love I crave<br/>Your hands they burn like mine; I’ll take you to my grave”<br/>-Scanners, <i>Salvation</i><br/>Unknown!Mihawk x Reader</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION:  
> This series is set in my House Trained universe, a supernatural setting with Werewolves, Vampires, and the like. You don't have to read "House Trained" to read this story, though there will be mentions of things happening there happening here and vice versa; but it will still be readable if you read one without the other. I would also like to mention that the themes of this story have slight gore - but nothing too graphic, I promise.  
> Thank you and enjoy.

There was a glowing orb in your room, high up near the ceiling and floating lazily about in a soft yellow.  Despite it's small size and dim light, it still seemed to brighten up the darkness pretty well.  It's lethargic movements would drift high and low for a few moments while it's fluorescence seemed to gradually go out, making it invisible in the shadows before it suddenly reappeared in another part of the room, bright and luminous as before.  The light did this for a while, going in and out and hovering gently in the air before landing on your vanity mirror and brightening up it's gold frame.  
  
You watched it with a frown, eyes still bleary from sleep and mind running at zero percent.  Your alarm clock was blinking near your head, it's spot on your nightstand flashing a series of red numbers at you and making you flinch.  
  
  
_...3:13AM...3:13AM...3:13AM...3:13AM..._  
  
  
Two hours before you had to get up, three hours before you had to leave for work, and four hours until you had to deal with people.  To you, that was too many hours of time you could be sleeping instead of watching some stupid lightning bug glide around your bedroom.    
  
Your eyes flitted to your window and narrowed, seeing it cracked open just as you had left it last night.  There were more of them flying close by, glowing between the leaves of the solid oak tree outside your window and waiting for their friend to give them the okay to come inside.  
  
Why the hell did you leave it open again?  Surely you would've learned by now that all sorts of critters liked to slip their way into your house without invitation.  Remember the snake?  I'm sure you don't want a repeat of that.  
  
"It'd felt so good outside," You muttered out loud, flinging a weary arm over your eyes so you could block out all distractions.  
  
  
_Does it feel good now?_  
  
  
You frowned, rubbing your legs together and feeling the perspiration practically drip off you.  What had been a wonderful, breezy night had turned into a humidity clogged morning, the disgusting heaviness of moisture blanketing the air and making you sweat like crazy.  Your hair stuck to your face in damp strands and made it seem like you'd just hopped out of the bath and plopped down for a nap, you skin feeling icky whenever you moved to brush a strand away.  
  
Sometime during the night you'd kicked your blankets off, not liking that they'd clung to you in the heat and forced you to lay spread eagle for any kind of cool air you could get.  You glared down at your sweaty limbs, feeling like a damp sponge left in a shower.  At least you had the sense to wear next to nothing to bed every night; whether it be short shorts, tank top, giant t-shirt, or butt naked - it was barely enough to fight the gross Louisiana weather.  
  
You glanced back at your clock, scowling when you saw that three minutes had passed.  Three precious minutes of wondrous sleep, gone.  
  
Groaning, you sat up and tugged at your tank top, feeling it stick to your skin for just a moment before it pulled away from your flushed body.  A sigh of relief slipped past your lips as a small brush of air passed between your damp clothes, finding yourself much more awake and resigned to waking up ungodly early.  
  
Your eyes strayed back to the lightning bug, the little insect resting on your mirror and lighting up every few seconds.  You stood and padded over to it, bare feet curling on the hardwood floor and feeling the wood slightly swollen from the thick humidity clouding the room.  
  
Don't leave the window open.    
Don't leave the window open.  
Don't leave the window open.  
_  
_ You said this over and over in your head as you cupped your hands around the bug, watching it's light color your fingers in a delicate yellow.  The bug didn't seem to mind your presence, crawling over your palm and fluttering it's tiny wings as you started to move across the room.  These were one of the few insects that never seemed to bother you, with their lazy flying, unobtrusive size, and light up butts; they were cute.  
  
"Hard to believe you guys are cannibals," You yawned, pushing your hands out the window and shaking them until the lightning bug took the hint and flew away.  You then pushed down on the window frame, the white wood almost too swollen to move until you used your full weight.  It shut with a loud thump and you stepped away while fanning your face, the room feeling a million times more stuffy.  
  
You turned to look at your alarm clock.  
  
  
_...3:21AM...3:21AM...3:21AM...3:21AM..._  
  
  
You sniffed in annoyance, wiping the back of your neck of any moisture lingering beneath your hair.  Gross.  You needed a shower.  
  
Not bothering to turn on the light, you padded around the room and looked for a set of clean towels along with your cigarettes, which were slightly crushed in your jeans pocket.  You looked at the crumpled package and sighed, feeling like it was going to be one of those days.  
  
Y'know, where everything just sucked.  
  
You opened the door to the large hallway and immediately stopped, a habit as old as this house making you refuse to step out of your room until you made sure nothing tripped you.  You looked down and sighed, spotting the large lump of orange fur spread out and in your way.  His pointed ears twitched when you nudged his back with your foot, the tabby cat looking up at you with large, green eyes.  
  
"Orange Juice, you fat bastard."  You slowly stepped over him, his head following your leg movement while his tail flicked leisurely and curled.  He meowed that sweet, baby meow of his and you to replied back.  "You're gonna be sorry when I step on you one day."  
  
He stood up and arched into a big stretch, his back fat effectively hiding any signs of him having a neck.  Once he finished he slowly turned to slip into your room but you stopped him by closing the door behind you.  
  
"No."    
  
Orange Juice sat down and stared at the door, watching your hand leave the knob before he pushed his paws beneath the wood, pitiful looking as he tried to push it open.  You rolled your eyes at the hefty feline and proceeded down the hall, glad to feel that it was slightly cooler then it'd been in your room.    
  
Tussling your hair and airing it out, you walked past a few ornate looking doors and by the large staircase that led down to the main floor of the house, wide and fancy like the stairs from _Gone With the Wind_ ; not the ones from the first house, but the Atlanta home where Scarlet lived with Rhett Butler and their daughter.  
  
...But not as gaudy.  
  
Or red.  
  
You walked past the staircase and looked down, seeing the front door just at the end of the stairs and noting the porch light was flickering on and off again.  Nothing new, you'll fix it whenever you had the time.  Just like you'll fix the window screen in the sun room, the leaky pipe in the kitchen, and the chandelier in the study.  Not at all perturbed that your house was in need of some repair, you made it to the bathroom at the other end of the hall and felt around the left side of the wall until you found the light.  Your fingers found it easily and flicked the switch, eyes squinting and blinking when you were blinded by brightness hitting the white tiles and baby blue wallpaper.    
  
It was an average bathroom with above average furnishings; hand-carved cabinets housing a modern sink that had been a bitch to install and a large mirror sitting on it's surface and making the area look twelve times bigger.  The room was already big to begin with without the added reflection, it's wide space leaving enough room to house two wardrobes on the other wall that held different kinds of bathroom products for both men and women.  The actual toilet wasn't even in here, instead it was located in a decent sized closet against the wall where one could close the door for extra privacy.  
  
The room was built to center around the classic, clawfoot tub.  Looking like something out of an old documentary, the bathtub was stationed near the back wall in pristine white porcelain with brass lion feet coming out of it's base, the metal paws glinted a brownish-gold against the tiled floor along with it's telephone style faucet curving up over the back.  There was a bit of space between the wall and the tub, leaving enough room to open the balcony doors that led outside to the terrace that stretched all the way to the other side of the house and to the second set of balcony doors that opened to your bedroom.  
  
It was overly extravagant and stupid, but you couldn't help but be fond of the idea that you could go outside right from this bathroom and walk right back to your room, completely naked.  
  
You've done it, of course.  
  
These were the pros to owning an old, plantation home.  Fancy living, lots of rooms, crazy old furniture and appliances; not to mention the wealth of history that seemed to settle over this place.  It wasn't an _Oak Alley Plantation_ or _Evergreen Plantation_ , but it was still incredible.    
  
The home was built around the 1840's with a large amount of land for farming, raising animals, and other old practices.  The original family had lost it sometime around the Civil War and was passed around a few hands before your late grandmother bought it and moved in with you and your older brother.  About a year or two later, the old biddy had passed away and left an eight year old you in the care of seventeen year old brother who was only a few months from graduating high school.  What made it worse was that you'd still be trying to settle in this new state, it's humid weather, melting pot of cultures, wild parties, and strange ghost tours mixed with voodoo magic had completely thrown you for a loop.  You hadn't made it easy on your sibling during those years, especially not when you turned into a teen yourself.  
  
Adam had taken the responsibility of the home quite well, skipping college to work and pay off repairs to keep the place in good shape.  He had updated the bathrooms and kitchen, fixed up the garden in the back, converted the old barn a few yards away into a makeshift garage and sold off the farmland to the state before it had slowly turned into a swamp.  Money hadn't been a big problem after that, enabling him to find a job he loved at a car garage where he'd met a dozen of amazing people who still came to bug you on your days off.  
  
It was understandable, the house was located in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by swampland and an hour drive from town.  There were no neighbors to visit and deliver pies, no locals nearby to wave hello to when you went out to get the newspaper that will never be delivered, and all sorts of wildlife walking around sticking their noses where they didn't belong; you couldn't blame them for worrying.  But you were tough, what with only a teen brother to raise you and most of your high school years being a complete mess, you were pretty sure you could handle any shit thrown your way.  
  
And your reward?  
  
Why, taking a long relaxing bath then walking out onto the terrace completely nude and no one around but you to enjoy it.  
  
You washed yourself lazily in the tub, taking as much time as you needed to get rid of any sweat and lingering mugginess that had soaked into your skin.  Once you were satisfied, you rose and pulled the plug on the bath before grabbing your pack of cigarettes and your lighter to head outside.  You opened the doors wide and gave out a long, relaxing sigh.  Despite the disgusting humidity outside, you still enjoyed the air against your naked, wet skin.  It was always a thrilling experience to walk out like this, so high up and looking over most of your land with nothing to cover you or keep you from prying eyes.  It was a great way to break the monotony of your everyday life without doing anything too crazy.  
  
You leaned against the white railing and pulled out a crumpled cigarette, careful not to scratch any sensitive areas on your body against the wood but still pressing close so you could relax.  Once lit, you placed your lighter on the banister and blew out a long puff of smoke, mind blank as you gazed over your property while the crickets chirped out whatever music they had left before sunrise.  
  
There was a long gravel drive just out front of your house, stretching and curving slightly all the way to the old iron gates just half a mile away.  On both sides of the gravel driveway was a sporadic placement of evergreen trees, their limbs and brush draped in live moss that hung down low and swayed in the slightest breeze.  A few oak trees were sprinkled here and there among the evergreens, one of them by the barn holding an old tire swing Adam had set up when you were younger.  
  
It too swung lazily against the breeze, twirling and twisting on it's rope while the old oak's branches leaned a little too close to the barn.  You wondered if this was the year that damn tree would finally fall onto the building, it's branches scratching against the shoddy roof while also chipping away at whatever red paint was left on it's walls.  You inhaled, hoping the building held up for just another year so you could get the money to upgrade it.  It was the only place you could store your vehicles during the harsh hurricane season and you rather not have your means of transportation destroyed.  
  
You scowled and took another hit, smoke forming a little halo around your head as you wondered if you could ask for more hours to get the money quicker.  Many plans formed in your head as you finished up your cigarette, from asking for a raise to finally opening your place to the public for little tours, whatever it took to get cash fast.  Though, you would prefer to keep your home off the tourist map and plantation tours, knowing you would lose all semblance of privacy if you did so.  People would come and go in droves, asking questions you knew nothing about in a home you've only had for a handful of years.    
  
You stubbed out your cigarette and huffed, wishing this place was haunted so you could just have people stay the night for a good scare, much easier then a historical tour.  Going back inside, you grabbed a towel and patted yourself dry as you tried to think of different ways to beg for overtime, knowing it was the only doable option you had left.  
  
Maybe they'll let you drive the van like old times...  
  
Walking back to your room, you pushed Orange Juice out of the way and stepped back into your room and grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt before looking at yourself in the mirror, noting your hair was dry before you'd had time to style it.  It looked pretty messy so you ran your hand through it a few times, the hair looking slightly frizzy and rumpled despite your grooming.  When your hair refused to settle how you wanted it to, you kind of shrugged and left it alone, knowing there wasn't anyone you were really trying to impress.  
  
With that in mind, you went about your usual make-up routine, which consisted of a tube of cherry-red chapstick and a few pats on the cheeks.  Simple and effective.  You pressed your lips and smeared the lipgloss around until you were satisfied then walked back out of your room, narrowly avoiding the orange tabby who was sitting right outside the door.  
  
"God damn it, OJ!!"  
  
He ignored you, getting halfway into your room before you snatched him up and walked back out.  You gave the cat a good scolding as you closed the door and headed downstairs, knowing he was too lazy to try and squirm out of your arms like most cats would do.  He knew he was getting a free ride to the kitchen anyways, a place where he could bury his nose into whatever food you decided to eat.  
  
Spoiled bastard.  
  
  
~  
  
  
You unlatched the lock to the barn and pulled at the large doors, grunting as the door refused to open for a few moments until the hinges finally gave way.  You almost stumbled backwards as the doors swung outward, their wide sweep dragging gravel, pebbles, and bottle caps with them as you propped them open.  The motion sensor light immediately switched on, lighting up the double-wide building and it's tools inside.  
  
The old building had been falling apart when you all first moved in, mold eating at the walls, creatures living in it's burrows, roof caving in, everything that could be broken completely useless.  Your brother had had his work cut out for him, but he took on the challenge with his usual positive attitude.  It'd taken Adam his whole sophomore year of high school to get the building safe enough to use, most of it sporting rotten wood and weak boards that would cave as soon as someone so much as looked at them.  
  
Once he'd managed to get the building useable, shelfs and a little loft were installed and converted into a makeshift work shop.  Many items ranging from hammers and screwdrivers to buzz saws and a nail gun now littered an entire interior wall while in the back was a ladder that led to the loft, this area holding most if not all the work tables where Adam would spend hours tinkering.    
  
  
  
_You ran out of the house and felt a blast of the summer heat hit your face, sweat already forming at your forehead as you jumped down from the front porch and just barely stuck the landing.  Stumbling up, you wiped any loose gravel from your palms before you went back to running towards the barn.  You were just on the verge of hitting puberty, legs growing out like string beans and making it hard to find your balance while bandaids littered your knees where you'd accidentally bumped into furniture; no corner was safe from your knobby legs and hissed curses during these first few years at the house.  
  
Only one door was open, signaling that someone was still inside.  Rushing in, you looked around until you saw a head of hair the same color as yours, bobbing up and down to the radio blasting next to him.  Queen's "Under Pressure" vibrated throughout the room and you could vaguely hear a second voice singing along with the lyrics, extremely out of tune and hilariously cringeworthy.  
  
"Adam!!"  
  
The second voice stopped while the music went on without him.  A thin teen poked his head out from the railing in the loft, scanning the room before they landed on you.  His face was covered in oil and grease while a bandana was wrapped around his head to keep sweat from pouring into his eyes.  
  
He grinned widely, eyes crinkling and blue pupils shining bright with cheerfulness.    
  
"Hey, Sunshine." _  
  
  
  
You smiled, staring at the loft as a sense of nostalgia flowed through you for a few moments before you walked inside.  The middle of the barn was taken up by your black Volvo 740, affectionately named Betty.  It was an old car and pretty banged up, but she was reliable and got you where you needed to go.  
  
Next to her was a 39 Knucklehead motorcycle, an antique bike your brother had found in a junkyard and spent years getting it back to working condition.  The vehicle looked good as new and much more fancier then Betty, it's maroon and banana yellow paint shining under the barn light.  You walked over to the bike and gently slid a finger over one of the handlebars, frowning as a light layer of dust rubbed onto your skin.  You'll have to clean it when you got home.  You checked your watch and sighed, knowing it would take a good hour to get to town and another fifteen minutes to set up your station.    
  
Let's see, keys, wallet, sunglasses...shit.  You needed to grab your jacket, it went everywhere with you no matter how hot this damn state got.  
  
You went back to the house, jumping over a few dips in the ground where giant puddles would form when it rained, even forming into a moat when it really poured.    
  
The outside of the house wasn't in any better shape then the grounds, moss and entwining vines climbing up the sides and coloring the white paint with dark greens.  Most of the foliage was out of control and would take a solid week to fully clean off the property, especially the vines that seemed to twist around the four thick pillars that started at the top of the porch and stretched up to the base of the roof.  Some of the greenery was even starting to grasp onto the catwalk, moss hanging down on different spots of the balcony like a thick curtain.  
  
The porch light flickered when you skipped the first two steps, heavy footfalls making it swing on it's long chain that connected to the bottom of the terrace.  You pulled out your keys and unlocked the front door, stepping aside for Orange Juice who trotted past.  You looked around the grand entrance for a moment before spotting the jacket hanging off the stair railing, just where you'd last left it.    
  
It was a high school letterman jacket, it's torso a cardinal red while the sleeves were white with their cuffs striped in both colors.  The coat was a zip up instead of buttoned like most you've seen and had a big white A embroidered on the right breast.  You walked over and grabbed it, feeling the worn wool between your fingers and glad that it was as soft as ever.  You slipped it on and sighed, feeling at ease when the sleeves stopped just at the tips of your fingers and the hem reached down below your butt.  It was obviously too big for you, but you liked it that way.  
  
Satisfied, you walked back out the front door and called out a "Be Back Later", despite knowing no one would answer back, then locked it.  You could see Orange Juice out of the corner your eye, the big lard trying to find the best spot on the porch for when the sun finally came all the way up.  He ended up settling in front of one of the rocking chairs and plopped right down, stretching out and looking long like a fat snake.  
  
You waved at him before jumping off the top of the porch, clearing all five steps and landing on your feet without trouble.  You gave your legs a bit of a stretch before going back to the barn.  In the distance, the sun was starting to peek over the trees and glare into your eyes.  You held up your hand to block the light and sighed, knowing you were running behind schedule now.  
  
Wake up early, but still arrive late.  Sounds like an average day.  
  
  
~  
  
  
About half an hour into your drive did you come to a fork in the road, the right leading through some backroads and past a few swamplands before one was an hour away from New Orleans.  The left road was twenty minutes out from town and where you worked.  The name of the little city was a long, complicated french word that roughly translated to _"The King's Paradise"_ ; something no local ever called it.  Instead, everyone referred to it as _Backwater_.    
  
You all called it that because your town seemed to always get whatever tourists New Orleans couldn't hold.  If most the hotels or inns were booked then Backwater got whatever was left over.  It was good for the economy and kept most of the local shops up and running, but it wasn't nearly enough to keep the place up to date and nice looking like New Orleans.  
  
Whatever, at least you didn't have to deal with the hassle of too many tourists.    
  
You turned left and blasted the radio, knowing you were coming into range of some of the local stations.  Crackling music came out of the speakers as you drove for another twenty minutes before switching over to local news.  
  
  
  


  
**_"-more bodies lost to rising water levels.  Families this morning were heartbroken to learn that loved ones were uprooted from the ground, causing thousands of dollars in damage.  Authorities are currently cleaning up the incident at St. Denis Cemetery and assure everyone that they will place every lost family member in new graves."_ **

 

 

Backwater's welcome sign came into view, it's french name in fancy lettering that was fading away thanks to the constant rain and humidity that hit this part of Louisiana.  You were about five minutes from turning onto Main Street and just another ten from work.

 

 

  
**_"'We are working close with each family who's relative has been damaged by the water.  Some of the bodies were swept away, but have been located quickly.  As far as we know, we have all of them back and will be placing them in new graves.  We, at the Police Department, thank you for your patience in this sad incident.'"_**  

  
  
  
It wasn't long before you were pulling into a parking lot of a boring looking building, red bricked and unassuming in the dim light with only a couple of cars parked.  You parked near the two cars you recognized and sighed, trying to pat down your hair a little before getting out.  You searched your pockets for a second, making sure you had your keycard to get inside and quickly found it in your left pocket.  Once located did you lock your doors, letting out a small yawn and a scowl as you walked up to the side doors that led to the back offices.  
  
Swiping your card, you waited for the little light on the machine to turn green before turning the knob and stepping inside.  Cool air brushed over your skin and made you visibly relax, glad to be out of that horrible humidity before you melted like the Wicked Witch of the West.  You could always count on your workplace to be cold - no matter if it was summer or winter.  It had to be.  
  
Or else the bodies would start to smell.  
  
You worked at the town's coroner's office as a Morgue Assistant, helping prep dead bodies for autopsy and even performing a few yourself.  You'd been working here for a good seven years, starting out as a van driver who went to go pick up corpses, then to filing paperwork and observing the Pathologist as they did their job at studying the organs and identifying diseases.  It had taken a bit, but you were _this_ close to getting your very own office, having proved your worth (and strong stomach) by performing the best quality cuts and filing anyone ever has.  
  
It'd been really weird at first, but you caught onto things quickly and found yourself enjoying your job, no matter how morbid it seemed to be...  
  
You walked past a few offices, most with their lights off and doors locked while the few that were open had a handful of people too busy to look up from their papers to talk.  After a few more steps, you made it to a large room that had most of the desks arranged in neat rolls, looking bland in the white light with the room's eggshell colored walls and cold tile floors.  It looked nothing like the movies, just a plain office that gave the interns and assistants a place to work.    
  
You walked to your desk and turned on your computer, letting it boot up before checking your emails for what you had to do before the Pathologist came in.  
  
Clean the tools.  
File organ weights and sign transfers.  
Wait for the funeral home to come pick up a body.  
  
"Oh," You grinned at one of your tasks for today.  "Autopsy~."  
  
Looks like you were cutting up someone today.  You opened the file attached to this email and read over the report, learning that it was an adult male found dead and washed up with some of the exhumed remains that had just been mentioned on the radio.  How lucky for you.  
  
The male was currently named _"John Doe"_ due to him having no identification on him.  It listed his weight, height and appearance in a small paragraph, along with all of the belongings found on him that was stored away in a locker.  You read over what you had to do before putting your computer in sleep mode, then you searched around your desk until you found your mini-tape recorder.  You didn't really need this, but you felt it helped filing away information a lot easier and you didn't have to worry about remembering measurements to write down later.  
  
Once you had all that you needed, you left the office area of the building and made your way to the freezer where all the bodies that came through were kept.  You stopped by the supply closet and grabbed a pair of gloves, goggles, a smock and apron knowing things can get pretty messy; you even had to wear little booties on your shoes or else they'd get ruined.  Putting all this on over your clothes, you proceeded to the freezer and used your keycard to get inside.  
  
The first thing you saw was a few metal tables arranged in a row, much like how your desk was in the shared office.  Most of the tables were empty, while two actually had human remains, both in black body bags and zipped up from view.  
  
You blinked and walked over to the closest one, unzipping the bag and found yourself looking at an old woman who was already stitched up and waiting to be shipped off.  This was probably the body the funeral home was going to pick up later, so you zipped it back up and went to the other corpse further down the row.  
  
Hanging off the side of the table was a clipboard with most of the subject's information that had been listed in the email, along with a signature on who signed off on what and who had stored away the belongings.  You were thankful you didn't have to undress the guy alone, seeing as the night shift assistants had taken his stuff and locked it up as evidence.  Dead bodies are super heavy and annoying.  
  
You reread all the information before turning on your recorder, "Testing testing."  
  
You pressed stop then rewound the tape, waiting just half a second before you pressed play and heard your voice through the speaker.  You brought the recorder back to your mouth and started your report.  
  
"Case number 2-981.  Subject Name: _John Doe_.  Date: March 16th, 2016."  You spoke into the recorder all the information relevant to you on the chart, taking a good ten minutes before you finally unzipped the bag and got a good look at your patient.  
  
You were surprised to find a handsome face beneath the black cloth, expecting to see an unknown corpse who'd just been pulled from his grave by rising water levels.  He had a stern looking face, sharp and angled like a bird while his ebony hair looked permanently wind blown.  You noted his hair was short and still had a soft gleam to it, much like healthy living person.  He had thin sideburns that met with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that looked exotic and well maintained (not many guys could pull this look off).  
  
"Subject is male with black hair and beard."  You reached forward and pushed back one of his eyelids, frowning when you couldn't figure out his eye color due to his eyes being rolled all the way back.  "Eye color unknown.  Male is...mixed Caucasian, most likely with Spanish and...Russian ancestry?"  
  
Russian wasn't quite right, but you weren't an expert on this kind of thing.  You just cut people open, not track their family tree.  
  
"Appears to be healthy."  His skin had a slight grey tinge to it though, so he was most likely starting the decomposing process.  You stared at his face again, feeling like if he were alive he'd be giving you a stern lecture on proper identifying procedures.   
  
You zipped the rest of the body bag down past his torso and waist then all the way to his feet before pulling it off.  Then you stared for a very long time.  
  
"Holy shit..."  You muttered, feeling a bit thrown off at how great he looked.    
  
His chest seemed wide but so lithe too, muscles hardened and sculpted like a greek statue while his abs looked exceptionally firm.  You couldn't help but stare at his torso for a while, noting that you could probably do an amazing load of laundry on those washboard abs.    
  
"Subject most definitely worked out in his spare time."  You didn't record that, but you felt like it needed to be said.  You set the recorder down and making sure it kept recording, needing both hands now to start the process but still take notes.  
  
In order for one to make it as a Morgue Technician, one had to look at the all gross things as interesting.  Like, "It's interesting that this guy died of unknown causes" and not, "Ew, there's a dead body in front of me".  Or, "I get to look at things most of the population has never seen in real life" instead of "Oh god, those things are _**inside**_ me?!".  It was kind of like...imagining people in their underwear when making a speech, it made things easier on your psyche and stopped you from becoming an anxious mess.  
  
The first thing you did was check his body for any marks that may help you find out how he died, things like bullet wounds, cuts, bruising, possible gun residue.  You finished this check up at his neck, looking carefully for any bruising that may link to strangulation before deciding it was something internally.   You took a few hair and blood samples to be looked at later then picked up the scalpel on the tool table, checking it's edge to make sure it was properly clean before you put it at the base of the dead man's neck.  
  
You took a deep breath, making sure your hands were steady before pushing the blade semi-deep in his throat, watching drops of blood spill out.  You frowned, unsure why he was still bleeding if he was already turning grey but proceeded to cut his torso from his collar bone and all the way to his naval, his chest opening wide and allowing you a view into his body.  
  
With one of the more nerve-wracking cuts finished, you set down your scalpel and studied the contents of the body, taking note the heart seemed to look about normal size then leaned closer when you noticed something off.  
  
"Subject's ribs are cracked in six visible places.  Possible blunt force to the chest as cause of death."  You reached in and ran a latex finger over one of the rib bones, seeing a crack running up it.  You studied the other areas of the chest and stepped back, looking thoughtful as you planned the next step of the autopsy; organ removal.  
  
You went to a shelf and pulled a plastic bag out of a box, airing it open and taking it back to the body to put the organs in after you weighed them.  You were just about to pick up the bone saw to cut open the ribs when you kicked something with your foot.  Thinking you dropped a tool, you looked down and noticed something gold gleaming under the metal table.  
  
It looked like a...necklace?  You bent down and took off one of your bloody gloves before picking the item up, giving it a good long, narrowed eye stare.  The item was in the shape of a cross, thick and large and hanging on a gold snake chain.  You rubbed a finger over the smooth surface and scowled, knowing exactly what this was.  One of the assistants must have dropped it when they were bagging this guy up and now it had to be locked up or get your ass chewed for "stealing".  
  
"Damn it," You muttered under your breath as you took off your other glove.  
  
You had to get this to filing before anyone misses it.  You checked the clipboard carefully and made note of who had been the one to lock up the belongings so you could give them a little warning so it wouldn't happen again. Stepping out of the room, you made your way down the hall with the necklace in hand, drops of blood staining the front of your apron and smock and making it look like you'd just come out of surgery.  
  
Deciding it best to keep this quiet, you slipped towards the office part of the building to store the necklace in your desk where you could file it after you finish the report.  You didn't want to get anyone in trouble and you really didn't want to deal with the paperwork you'd have to file on the assistant.  You remember very well how the former Morgue Tech had tormented you when you were just a van driver, calling you out on the stupidest shit until they finally transferred and you promoted.    
  
No way were you going to be _**that**_ guy.  
  
You made it to the shared office and was relieved to see no one was in yet, still just a little too early for the rest of the crew.  Swinging the chain on your fingers a little, you walked to your desk and opened the bottom drawer, pushing aside some files and a rubix cube before dropping the jewelry inside.  You closed the drawer with your foot and left the room, now more inclined to finish the autopsy quickly so you could avoid more people when you filed the object away.  
  
It felt like the trek back to the freezer took forever, having to take a different hall the second time through when you saw the janitor start to clean up your usual route.  But you finally made it after your stop by the supply closet for more latex gloves, even avoiding a conversation with one of your more annoying coworkers in your office when you waved them off and pointed to your bloody clothes.  The man had visibly paled at the sight and went back to staring at his computer, making you snicker under your breath that he couldn't handle the morbid side of the job.  
  
You swiped your keycard when you made it to the entrance of the lab, waiting for the little light on the machine to turn green before stepping inside.  You hummed softly to yourself as you pulled the clean gloves on, going through the usual motions of picking up the bone saw over on the counter and taking it with you to the empty metal table.  
  
...  
  
...Wait.  
  
Empty?  
  
You blinked and stared long and hard at the gurney, wondering if your eyes were playing tricks on you.  Then you noticed your tool table had been knocked over, scalpels, syringes, and everything all over the ground, contaminated with blood and dirt.  You looked back at the empty table, bone saw clutched tightly in your hand as you wondered where the dead body had gone.  
  
"...What the fuck."  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UGH! Sorry it took so long, random hiatus...
> 
> Anyways, here, the bane of my existence at the moment.

It had been a good five minutes before you realized the car radio had gone out of range of the nearest station, white noise crackling and hissing through the old speakers and making you flinch.  You pressed the knob to cut to silence then rolled down your window, wind whipping and whirling into the vehicle and filling your ears with something other then the unbearable quiet.  You weren't surprised when you were hit with the stench of musk and decaying vegetation, the odor quickly squirming into your nostrils and reminding you of a wet swimsuit left in a duffle bag for days.

You were close to home now, what with the lack of any decent signals and a smell so strong that it felt like you had mud up your nose.

Your eyes scanned the passing scenery of tall, skinny trees that were scattered in large numbers around the edge of the road, each close together and blocking out most of the view that led into the swamplands.  Just a mile or two into that brush and it would become less dense as the skinny trees start to dwindle while thicker, taller ones start to appear.  Each branch of these trees would have low, hanging moss while algae would grow at the bottom and try to claw it's way up to the top.  Puddles of water will start to crop up here and there, getting bigger and bigger in different areas before they all begin to merge into mud and marshland where the swamp built it's kingdom and the wildlife roamed.

Tapping the steering wheel, you ignored each passing car as all thoughts disappeared and your mind became blank once more.  You could leave all stray notions behind as the wind continued to blow through your hair and crash against your face and left you with nothing other then the compulsion to drive faster.  

You were lucky to know these roads like the back of your hand, else you wouldn't be able to zone out like this.  Each bump in the concrete was like your knuckle, clenching and shifting in your hand while every dip in the pavement as familiar as the lines in your palms.  You could close your eyes and drive at dangerous speeds that reached to the upper nineties and **still**  avoid every pothole that blemished the road.

Not that you have.

...

In a _while._

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you slowed down as your street came into view.  You turned the wheel and bounced lightly in your seat as Betty rumbled at the sudden change from the smooth road to gravelly lane, rocks and pebbles flying under your wheels as you gained traction and sped up again.  It wasn't much longer when you saw the old, iron gate covered in moss and vines that tangled and weaved around the bars like a plague.  The metal fence used to circle your whole property, going all the way around until Adam took it down before it was swallowed up by the swamp.  He left most of the front half alone for ambiance, but mostly because there were bigger projects to deal with and it didn't really hurt anything.

Only now the iron in the iron gates were becoming harder and harder to spot as the land started to cover it with brush that was colored with wildflowers and poison ivy.  If you weren't careful then you'd be stuck with an infestation soon and the last thing you wanted was to get a rash just from walking around your property.

Just another chore to add to the long list of things to do.

You pulled up to the barn and slowed, carefully driving into the structure and thankful for once that you hadn't closed the doors before you left.  As soon as you were all the way in, you put the car in park and rolled up your window, mind still blank as you watched the glass slowly rise higher and higher until it was shut.  You turned off Betty and pocketed your keys before sliding out, cicada songs meeting your ears as you slammed the door and stepped out of the barn.  

The sun's position hadn't changed much since you'd last left the house, it's bright rays hitting you square in the face and forcing you hold up your hand in an attempt to block it out.  It was understandable, you'd only been gone for three hours instead of the usual eight, so of course the sun would still be a bit low.  Trying to ignore this little annoyance, you started walking towards the front porch, hands in your jean pockets and shoulders tenser then usual.

_"This has been a very...interesting day."_

_A scowl threatened to take over your face as you stared at the coroner, his hands folded on his fancy, mahogany desk as his mouth formed into a thin line.  You shifted uncomfortably in your seat as an unsettling feeling balled up in your stomach, wrenching and tightening as it always did when you were called into the office._

_Your boss cleared his throat, waiting for some kind of explanation while all you could worry about was whether you were going to throw up or not._

You passed the large oak tree with the tire hanging from it's lowest branch and shoved it, taut rope scraping against the tree limb as the swing moved out of your way.

_"I've had a long talk with the police and they don't believe anyone broke in."_

_The older man leaned back in his chair, looking tired and irritated as he continued with this little one sided conversation.  "The locks are still functioning and the time stamps only show your card in use."_

_You gripped the chair's armrest and bit your tongue, knowing that it would be worthless to declare innocence at this point.  After only an hour of talking with a cop and explaining the situation did you realize how **fucking crazy** this all was.  Everyone was expecting answers when you were just as confused as they were.  _

_Why would someone steal a corpse?!  Was it some kind of prank?  Did they think they could make a few quick bucks selling the organs?   The more important ones (heart, kidney, etc.) would be useless after a few hours, so unless they wanted a few heart valves or bone, there really was no point._

_You would have kept this thought to yourself if it didn't already feel like you were the prime suspect._

The tire continued to swing long after your stern push, bumping hard into the tall tree and making the cicadas cry out even louder.  You ignored this as you tried to keep yourself under control, hands clenching and nails digging deep into your palms as gravel crunched beneath your feet.  

Your house seemed like a million miles away despite only being a few yards, making your walk of shame seem much more humiliating.

_An idea came to you quickly, making you sit up straighter in your seat with frenzied energy._

_"What about the security cameras??!  They must have caught something!"_

_Management had just ordered new cameras a little under a year ago when it was discovered someone had been caught stealing people's lunches.  After that little incident they decided it best to put them all over the place; the offices, break room, hallways, and even the freezer where the bodies were kept.  It was a little crazy how many they'd bought, but it sure kept anyone from stealing something more valuable then a sandwich.  With video evidence they would see you had nothing to do with this!_

_You gave the coroner an expectant look only to watch as he shifted in his seat, looking a bit uncomfortable as he cleared his throat._

_"Ah...the cameras..."_

You stopped and turned, watching the tire start to sway to a stop after one last bump against the oak's trunk, twisting and turning on it's thick rope until it came to a complete standstill.  

You bit the inside of your cheek and stomped back towards it.

_The coroner coughed awkwardly, "They...Well, with the budget cuts, we haven't had the money to keep them running."_

The tire was within reach when you pulled your leg back-

_"W-What?"_

_Budget cuts?  You understood they had to cut back here and there, but surely they had the money to keep a few cameras on!?  What was the point of buying all of them if they weren't going to use them!?!_

_Your boss pulled at his tie as if it were too tight around his neck and kept his gaze on the far wall so he didn't have to look you in the face._

_"We felt that the presence of the cameras would quell any wrong doers from stealing, so we shut them off."_

-and swung it hard into the swing, pain quickly shooting up your leg as you landed a direct hit.

_You twitched, outrage building up inside your chest and threatening to explode._

_It's okay...  Deep breath.  Just...  Just keep it together._

It flung back from the force, spinning erratically in the air before swinging in your direction where you were ready with a raised heel and a need to attack with all you had.

_The coroner shifted in his comfy looking office chair, the dark leather squeaking under the man's weight and gaining your full attention.  "Well, yes, about your position."_

_He was changing the subject, as if shoving it under the rug would make you forget this miscarriage of justice._

_"Because of the police investigation, we ask that you take a little break from the office.  Spend time at home and let the professionals deal with this mess."_

Sweat trickled down your back as the tire came at you again, spinning with a vengeance as you prepared to pummel it once more.  

This time you kicked it sideways, making the rubber ring change directions and bounce right into the oak's thick trunk with a loud _**BOP!**_   It rebounded quickly and you were just able to punch it away in frustration before it could smack into you. 

You regretted nothing as your knuckles pulsed with pain, as if this awkward strike caused all the bones in your hand to shatter into a million, pointy pieces.

_You blinked, uncertain what exactly was happening._

_"We'll be sure to call you when all of this is cleared up."_

Your fist throbbed angrily, already showing signs of swelling and a redness that rivaled an embarrassed lobster.  Heavy gasps rocked your body as you took a shaky step back, cradling your palm close to your chest as rage slowly ebbed into a numbing ache of hopelessness.

_"Am..."  You took a deep breath, fingers now digging into the seat cushion and turning stark white.  "Am I being **fired?** "_

You clumsily fell to the ground and took deep, calming breaths as sweat slid down your back in a slow trickle.  This made your shirt feel sticky and wet near the nape of the collar while your letterman jacket's wool material only served to cook you faster in the sweltering heat.

_"No," the coroner assured you.  "No, no, no.  Of course not."_

You gritted your teeth in annoyance and reached into your pocket to fish for your crumpled pack of cigarettes.  Counting only three left, you hastily lit one and inhaled as much nicotine as you could to soothe your anxiety.

_"Again, we just wish to let the police continue their investigation without any problems."_

_You narrowed your eyes as you quickly put two and two together._

_They didn't want you near the crime scene.  Keeping you away meant you wouldn't have the chance to tamper evidence, fix any errors in your story, or just steal another body.  These people didn't believe you.  They didn't even want to try._

_The coroner smiled, trying to appear chipper despite the horrible circumstances.  "There's no need to worry, just relax!  Think of it as a vacation!"_

_Anger flared like fire in your chest as you stared at the man as he tried to play off the situation.  He could call it whatever the hell he wanted, but you didn't need a brain to figure out this was a pink slip._

_"Of course, we can't **pay** you during this time off." His smile turned tight and he shrugged his shoulders, as if your very livelihood wasn't on the line._

_"I'm sure you understand."_

You growled under your breath.  "I understand all right, you  _coullion*._ "  
  
Taking a long hit from your cigarette, you sat there for who knows how long just glaring at the swing as it swayed to a stop.  You allowed yourself to be angry, frustrated, sad, and downright annoyed as you replayed the scene over and over again in your head and wondered if you could have strangled your boss if given the chance.  It wasn't until your second cigarette did you decide to stop feeling sorry for yourself, knowing you were fucked either way and that there was no point in kissing your pride until it felt better.  So, you could either sit here and pout like a child or continue on with your head held high.

Plus, you only had one cigarette left and money wasn't going to fall from the sky anytime soon.

You pocketed the pack and took the time to inspect your injured hand, flinching and hissing each time you flexed your swollen fingers.  It didn't seem too serious, at least nothing a cold press couldn't fix, but _**fuck**_ did it hurt.  Just shifting your knuckles was a strain on your wrist and you briefly wondered if you fractured something.

Ice.  Ice was a good idea.

You stood and stalked your way to the front porch, skipped the first two steps, then fumbled for your house keys.  Out of the corner of your eye was OJ, exactly where you'd left him.  The orange tabby was laying on his side with his head up and eyes closed, his tail flicking slowly as if extremely pleased with himself.  He was in the perfect spot, just where the sun was starting to spread over the lawn and onto the porch, baking and simmering everything with warmth and making it the best napping place.

"Coming in?"

He didn't even acknowledge you, just continued flicking his tail as his purrs grew loud enough to drown out some of the cicada noise.  You exhaled loudly in annoyance, sounding like a dragon who was just poked in the side by a dinky sword then stepped inside the house.  Holding up your good hand, you slowly lowered one finger after the other as you counted the seconds, not even reaching three when you heard light scratching.  

_"Merrrrrrrooooooowwww."_

Right on cue.

~ 

You flexed your fist, testing the bandage and feeling satisfied that it was neither too tight or too loose.  You'd be able to perform the normal tasks of writing and holding things without feeling pain, but still keep your knuckles constricted enough to heal properly.  Deeming yourself fit for duty, you put the first aid kit back up then left your bathroom, ignoring that itch to step outside onto the balcony to have a smoke.

Better to save the last cigarette for later then be jittery the rest of the day.

Walking downstairs, you tried to figure out what to do with yourself for the time being.  There was a ton of work around the house that needed to be done and since you had an indefinite amount of time on your hands, now was the time to do it.  The porch light and chandelier in the study needed an electrician, then there was the leaky pipe in the kitchen and the sun room's window screen that required looking into.

Oh, and the barn roof.

It was almost as if you were made of money~!

You stopped at the bottom of the stairs and rubbed your eyes, trying to figure out what you were going to do about necessities on this "vacation" of yours.  It wasn't like you didn't have money saved up, but you weren't sure how long it could actually last.  This case could take weeks and you'd no doubt run out of money by then.  Could you hold out for that long?  Was there a way to keep your job at all or should you find something part time until everything is cleared up?

Would any place hire you?  You doubted they'd want employees who were under investigation from stealing a dead body.  Ugh, you can only imagine all the shit they were going to do; things like following you around, reading your phone logs, bank statements, and performing background checks-

You froze in place.  Your chest constricting and your hands shaking as an intense, unsettling **dread** took over your very being.  It was like your whole body had stopped moving all the way from the tips of your fingers, down to the very ends of your toes.  

All your hard work...  Your years of studying and proving yourself...

You couldn't breathe, couldn't think!  Only watch as your life shattered into a million pieces all around you as realization dawned on you and you watched it all slip away in a matter of hours.

"Fuck...Fuck fuck fuck _**fuck!**_ "

No way were you going to keep your job now!  It'd be a miracle if you'd even get a chance to see your office again!!  You were screwed; so very, very screwed!!  
  
And why?

Because you had been a self-destructive little idiot in high school who had too many run ins with the law.  Did you pick fights?  Check.  Skip school?  Check!  Race cars through the streets?  Check!! Take enough drugs to take down an adult elephant?  Check, check, check, check, fucking check!!  You'd been a damn mess and your poor brother had done everything in his power to keep it all together.  He had bailed you out of jail, forced you to continue with your education, and even got you sober enough to take your life seriously.  

The man was a _**damned**_ saint.  

With so many close calls it was a wonder you hadn't been shipped off to bootcamp or dropped in some foster home where you undoubtedly belonged.  At least Adam would have had an easier life without you there to screw it up...

"I need a cigarette."  You seethed, hands clenching as you stomped over to the front door.  

You stepped outside and paced around the porch, fingers fumbling with your last smoke as you tried to light it.  It wasn't until you burnt your fingers for the third time did you stop and collect your thoughts, taking deep breaths and counting to ten as the sound of OJ scratching at the door barely registered in your mind.

This wasn't the end of the world.  

You've been through tougher times and you've always came out for the better.  No need to freak out, it's just a job anyways.  

...A job that had great benefits, decent hours, and pretty okay people.  Not to mention you actually enjoyed what you did.  You'd be one lucky sonuvabitch to find another that lives up to it.

"I feel so much better."  You hissed, shoving the cigarette back into your crumpled pack and stomping back into the house.  

Orange Juice managed to get out of the way before your trampled over him and quickly followed you towards the living room, huffing and puffing in annoyance from your constant change of location.  You ignored him as you walked through the large entryway, leading into the living room where the decor that seemed to take you back in time.

With the impression of a true plantation home, everything looked expensive, fancy, and ancient.  The dark walnut wooden floor showed very little wear and tear as it contrasted beautifully with the ornate rug placed in the center of the room.  Most of the decor was a ripe, apple red with  _fleur de lis_ patterns decorating pillows and drapes in a gold that had faded to mustard over the years.

On the rug was a maroon fainting couch that had the sophistication of a wealthy home, but the comfort of a pile of rocks.  Next to it was an end table with a drawer of old candy and a fancy lamp with a shade made of stained glass.  The lampshade was patterned with magnolias and ivy that set the lighting of the room into whites and greens whenever it was on.  Not that the living room needed that much light during the day, what with windows twice your height taking up most of the walls and allowing you a view of the porch and front yard.

The couch faced a large, white marble fireplace (unused, circa. 1987) with a mantle that was covered in old photographs.  Most were of Adam and you, captured in moments of carefree happiness that distracted you enough from your reckless years.  The other pictures had your grandmother in them, mainly of her in her late 20s where she seemed pretty relaxed despite her ornery attitude later in life.  

Filling the empty spaces between the frames were bundles of fake vines and roses, the flowers a pale pink and adding a romantic touch to the decor while a tall mirror hung on the wall above it all.  But the main piece on the mantle was a plain looking vase made of pewter, thin script written on it's side with dates and loving words you had cobbled together last minute.  

Your eyes lingered on the object for a split second before looking away, not sure you were ready face it at the moment...

There were other furnishings in the room; a tall bookcase stuffed to the brim with varying genres, a glass coffee table that sat between the couch and fireplace that held only a single ashtray (always tempting you to smoke inside), and a whiskey cabinet that stayed locked at all times.

You didn't know where the key was and you didn't need to know.

The last, and more important feature of the room was in the far off corner, mainly kept out of the way so no one could knock it over whenever it was put to use.  Standing only ten inches tall and five inches wide was a Crosley Companion Radio, a shortwave radio that was modeled after the original ones from the 1930s.  It sat on a plain and unobtrusive table, it's shape that of a smooth, cathedral church made of dark wood and carved with simple designs.

These things were recognizable because of their strange silhouette and simple interface for changing stations.  If you've ever seen a movie set around this time period, no doubt you've watched a family or two gather around one of these things (whether big or small) to listen to old programs about Rebel Detectives, Cowboys and Indians, or speeches by the President and _blah blah blah blah-_

It was at this point that you had stopped listening to Adam's description of the radio, not really sure why he had gone out and bought it from the local walmart for all that money when he couldn't even use it.

Ever since he read _The Great Gatsby_ in high school, he'd become a slave to the era and it's crazy culture.  It prompted him to buy an expensive replica radio, CDs and tapes with jazz, blues, and big band music, even an old motorcycle now parked in the barn.  Adam, sports kid, tinkerer of bikes and all around boy scout was a nerd for anything and everything vintage.

You walked over to the object and fiddled with the knobs, already knowing what you were going to find when you turned it on.  Despite there being no way to get a signal for miles in this area because of lack of radio towers and a population to listen in, your brother had managed to find one off in the far corner of the house.  

And wouldn't you know it?

_"Oh, well, there's Flo on my left and there's Mary on my right  
And Janie is the girl, well, that I'll be with tonight  
And when she asks me, which one I love the best?  
I tear open my shirt and I show 'Rosie' on my chest"_

It played his favorite music.

You sighed and trudged to the couch as the upbeat music filtered through the room, making you relax far more then a cigarette normally could.  This stupid little station had the ability to take your mind off the more upsetting things in life.  While smoking helped you vent out frustration, your brother's little radio made you forget everything and just relax.

_"Cause I'm a wanderer  
Yeah, a wanderer  
I roam around, around, around, around"_

The best way to describe your relationship with this genre of music would be...stockholm syndrome.  It'd been too expensive back then to buy a television and install a dish, so you grew up having to listen to musicians like Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and Billie Holiday when you were bored.   The station didn't even have a host and never in all your years of listening have you heard someone utter a single word.   There wasn't even a mention to the history of each song and no attempt at informing what was going to play next.  It was n othing but twenty-four hours of Dean Martin, Louie Armstrong, Nina Simone, and many others you've yet to discover.  Just all music, all the time.

  
You blocked out most the sound coming from the corner as you flung an arm over your eyes, mind going blank as light filtered through the tall, living room windows.  The radio was more for your nerves then your actual entertainment, so most the songs went through one ear and out the other.  Sometimes you'd be so upset about something that you'll sit on the couch for hours and hours while wild music cluttered the room.

_"Oh, well, I roam from town to town  
I go through life without a care  
And I'm as happy as a clown  
I with my two fists of iron and I'm going nowhere"_

This was good though. You needed to zone out and forget all your problems.  Especially after what happened today and what it meant for your future.

_"I'm the type of guy that likes to roam around  
I'm never in one place, I roam from town to town  
And when I find myself fallin' for some girl  
Yeah, I hop right into that car of mine, I drive around the world"_

You felt a ray of warmth envelope you as the sun shined through the windows, much higher in the sky and raising the temperature from cool morning to muggy afternoon.  Just knowing how hot it was going to get today made you want to take a long nap.  You could already feel your skin grow damp from the rise in humidity which made you want to stretch out to get as much cool air as possible.  Fumbling with your legs, you managed to lay them on the coffee table and sighed, leg nudging the ashtray to the side as you wiggled to get comfortable.

Despite the upbeat song playing in the background, you could feel your mind float to a lull as your eyes grew heavy and your breathing slowed.

_"Yeah I'm a wanderer  
Yeah, a wanderer  
I roam around, around, around, around"_

"I roam around, around, around, around...."

~

You were jerked awake by the sound a high pitch ringing, the sound easily drowning out the smooth jazz that played softly from your brother's radio.  Groggy and confused, you stood up and walked forward, then you stumbled back as your knees bumped into the glass table.

Cursing, you sidled around the thing as you tried to crack your back, stiff and aching from the crappy couch and it's crappy cushions.  You managed to snap it back in place here and there as you walked to the corner, getting one big kink out that caused your shoulders and neck to sag in lovely relief.  You allowed yourself this moment of bliss before you stared at the radio, too tired to care as you grabbed the plug connected to the wall and pulled.  

_Riiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnggggggggggg._

You looked over your shoulder and scowled, shuffling towards the foyer where you fumbled for the old cordless hanging on the wall.

"Hello?"  You blinked and looked at the phone before turning it right side up, a bit annoyed you had spoken into the ear piece first.  "Hello?"

You leaned against the wall and scratched your head, some of the strands frizzier then normal as it became apparent how _**hot**_ it was right now.  You ignored the perky woman over the phone as you busily combed out your hair with your fingers, untangling two or three knots until you suddenly recognized the person speaking.

It was the secretary from work and she sounded...happy?

"Right now?"  You perked up, suddenly finding yourself clinging to any shred of hope you had left.

"Yeah, I can be there in thirty minutes!"  

You mentally cheered and ran over to the stairs to grab your jacket from the railing, placing the phone between your ear and hunched shoulder as you listened to the younger woman prattle on.  Her attitude was certainly infectious, prompting you to go faster as you looked around for your keys.  Maybe she was trying to hold in her excitement at having you come in to hear you get your job back?  Oh shit, you hoped so.

"Yes, yes.  Thank you!"  Damn girl, shut up.  "Yes!  I'll see you soon!!"

You hung up the phone and grinned, running past OJ who was trying to get to the door before you so he could squirm outside.  He didn't make it though, watching as you slammed it closed behind you and didn't even bother to lock it.

Adrenaline seemed to pump through you as you ran from the entrance, all the way across the porch, and right off the top step.  You felt the sensation of being airborne for one wonderful moment before you made a perfect landing in the gravel, arms raised like some olympic gymnast as you smiled up at the sky.

You had a good feeling about this~!

~

You huffed...and puffed...and kicked the goddamn door down!!!!

Eyes lit in fiery rage, you clenched your teeth and dug your fingers into the brown box trapped in your grip.  A box that held all your hopes and dreams and seemed entirely too light to be worth much of anything.  It carried all your stuff from work...everything from the Rubik's cube to the borrowed calculator from accounting.

You hadn't even been the one to do it.  They had someone else pack up your shit while you were gone so there had been no chance to say goodbye to anyone...

Those...fucking heartless _**bastards!!!**_

You slammed the door shut before Orange Juice could make it again and ignored his pitiful whine as you marched angrily into your living room, throwing the container hard onto the coffee table and watching it collapse.  Everything quickly scattered along the table and to the floor, pencils rolling under the couch, coffee cup shattering at the handle and everything else just pissing you off!

"You...!!!   YOU!!!!"

You screamed, turning to punch one of the pillows over and over as you cursed your job for being so damn cheap.  It was bad enough they hadn't let you clean out your desk yourself, the least they could have done was give you a decent _**fucking**_ box!!

It wasn't long before you ended up hurling the cushion across the room, the item lightly knocking into the bookcase and not even making it wobble from the force of your throw.  This only made you madder, as if your rage wasn't enough to fix everything wrong that's happened to you.  Without thinking, you lobbed the second pillow and watched it fly into the foyer, landing right next to your cat who skittered away as soon as it brushed his tail.  

Snarling in rage, you rushed to grab something else to throw but found yourself falling forward instead as you slipped on something.  You just barely missed the corner of your coffee table as your nose broke your fall, making you heave as more rage seemed to boil inside you.  Sitting up, you looked around for the offending item so you could hurl it away only to freeze when something else caught your eyes.  Staring in complete disbelief, you reached over and picked up the gold cross necklace, mind suddenly and completely blank as you tried to put two and two together.

Why hadn't the police...?

_"Subject is male with black hair and beard."_

Jolting, you scrambled into an upright position as you tried to find the source of the voice.

_"Eye color unknown. Male is...mixed Caucasian, most likely with Spanish and...Russian ancestry? Appears to be healthy."_

That was your voice...

_"Holy shit..."_

That was your recorder!!!

You pushed the coffee table away to make more space, eyes scanning over the many items littering your floor and looking for the one thing you shouldn't even have.  The last time you saw it was when you left the freezer to go put up the necklace, so there was no way it shouldn't be in some evidence locker down at the police station.  Did a coworker think they were helping out by grabbing everything for you when filling the box?  Why hadn't the police taken it or the tape?  Was there some sort of mistake and they overlooked it?

_"Subject's ribs are cracked in six visible places. Possible blunt force to the chest as cause of death."_

You frowned, realizing it playing the whole autopsy from start to finish.

"Great," You huffed.  "Just what I needed, to hear my failure in repeat."

Continuing your search, you had to endure your last, precious moments of work before you found the corpse's necklace and left the freezer to hide it.  You even repeated the curse you said on tape when you had no luck in finding the stupid thing.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!!"

A door slammed and you frowned, pausing as the sounds of footsteps faded away on the recorder and the room grew silent.

Wait...had you not stopped the tape?

_**CRAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!!** _

Jumping back in shock, you avoided shouldering your coffee table as the tape recorder continued on, more strange noises quickly following the first.  

The sound repeated itself, a cracking that ranged from a butterfly flutter soft to a terrifyingly loud snap and crack!  It was slow at first, a few seconds between each painstaking noise until it started to pick up speed and went from one crack a second to two, then three, and so on.  It only grew worse and worse as it started to seem like there were a handful of people in your living room cracking their knuckles all at once, the noise never ending and only serving to drive you nuts.  Then a new sound entered the game and you couldn't help but feel queasy as it seemed like someone was using their bare hands to play with squishy ground beef.

The squelching mixed in with those powerful cracks enabled you to find the recorder much faster, which you were incredibly thankful for because this shit was freaking you out!  You promptly laid down when you spotted it under the couch, reaching your arm out to try and grab for it so you could shut the damn thing off.

Then something fell over in the tape, objects clattering to the ground and making you remember how you had found your tool table mysteriously turned over.  You paused as various noises of plates and tools scattered over the ground before something that sounded like a struggle followed soon after.  

It was like limbs were suddenly flying as you heard skin and bone smack into metal, more items clashing to the ground as whatever was happening grew more violent.

Then everything stopped...silence filled the room and you held your breath as the clamoring ceased.  You were too afraid to grab the tape recorder at this point, as if all those sounds were something inhuman and disgusting.  You didn't even get a chance to take in the silence as you heard something even more chilling on the tape.

You almost hadn't caught it, the sound so soft that you weren't used to hearing it in the freezer.

Breathing.  

Slow, heavy breathing of a single human being in a lonely room that should have been locked to everyone.  There had been no signs of the door opening before this fury of sounds, no way anyone should even be inside.  No one could have hidden inside because the cabinets were too small and filled to the brim with supplies.

So why...?

Why the hell could you hear _breathing?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did it...I'm so proud of it too...even if it is long @_@

  
_"Holy shit..."_

Fast forward.  Play.

_** CRAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!! ** _

Rewind.  Play.

_"Holy shit..."_

You sneered, smoke billowing around your head after a long exhale.

_**CRAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!!** _

The recorder felt heavy in your hand as you fiddled with the buttons, too focused on trying to figure out this damn noise to realize that the humidity was making the device slippery from a combination of condensation and your sweaty palm.  Doing this outside probably wasn't the brightest idea to date, but you really needed this last cigarette and Adam would _**kill**_ you if he found out you smoked inside.  Your brother had never approved of your nicotine kick, but considering this habit was the least harmful compared to your previous addictions, he never pushed it.

But hey, at least it was legal.

Though, there was something wholly unsatisfying about cigarettes.  The way the sterile white burned into a stain yellow after each hit was an eyesore and the only enjoyment that seemed to come of it was the ash that whisked away with the breeze.  It was a fleeting euphoria that never really balanced out the migraines and clenched jaw you got when you hadn't had one in a few hours.

Maybe you should think about quitting...

_"Holy shit..."_

The loud, decisive crack rang through the tiny speakers and you scowled.

"Holy shit is right."

You flicked your cigarette butt and toyed with the idea doing the same thing to the tape.  I mean, who would miss it?  It would certainly make your life easier and heaven forbid your situation got any more complicated.  

What's worse?  A good little employee losing a dead body or a good little employee caught with evidence concerning said dead body?  Just having this made it look like you were trying to cover your tracks.  Next thing you know the police will be knocking on your door and carting you off to the police station kicking and screaming.

It was only a matter of time.

" _ **Fuck.**_ "  You pushed off the railing you'd been leaning against and paced around the porch like a untamed bull, mindful of OJ who was lazing about near the steps as he enjoyed the late afternoon sun.

He didn't even react as you shook the tape recorder like it was a person or when you repeatedly slammed it on one of the rocking chairs.  Orange Juice merely yawned and started to clean his chest while you stepped over him and down the porch steps with fierce purpose.  Wooden planks vibrated and hanging moss rippled as you put every ounce of anger you had into each, resolute step.  The only thing louder then you were the cicadas, their stark songs ringing in your ears the closer you got to the tire swing where...  You proceeded to beat the crap out of it.

This went on for a while, only stopping for quick moments to catch your breath before starting up again.  Ten minutes had passed before you finally collapsed on the ground, your muscles sore and whole body cramped as you watched the tire swing lazily over your head with the rustling of olive green leaves and peeks of the open, blue sky as the backdrop.  It's taut rope crackled quietly against the tree branch while grass tickled your ears and filled your nose with must and wet soil.  You could feel a few sharp pebbles and a bottle-cap press against your back, no doubt thrown over here by Betty's tires after a rushed morning.  

Taking a few deep breaths, you closed your eyes and decided now was time to act like an adult.

And what did adults do?

You placed your hand on your jeans pocket, your face screwing up in annoyance at feeling the crumpled little pack shoved haphazardly in your pants.

"Buy more cigarettes."

_...and?_

You groaned and rolled your eyes.  "Go to the police."

 

~~~

 

The first thing you saw before turning into the parking area was the impound lot, it's tall chainlink fence housing lost and stolen cars, along with a few bikes locked to a rack.  One look on the other side of the gate showed an officer talking to an irate-looking man gesturing towards an old Chevy.  Even with your window up, you could hear the his furious shouts and how this was all some sort of mistake and-

You sighed in relief when the voice faded as you drove around the other side of the dull, tanned building and into the station's parking lot.  The lower half of the structure had dark brown bricks as it's foundation while the upper levels looked like the beige was slowly making it's way towards the bottom after years and years of heavy rain and humidity.  The steps looked cracked in a few places and the curved, arching windows had been repainted into the same shade as the building's brick support; though it seemed they'd run out of funds since only the front half of the department was actually finished.

The parking lot was only half full when you pulled in, most of the vehicles being off-duty police cruisers and a few others that belonged to office workers or visitors.  You found a spot near the back of the lot and took your time getting out of the car, hand in one pocket of your red Letterman jacket while you toyed with the tape recorder.  You tried to focus on the buttons, pressing rewind and fast forward while you stared hard at the department's entrance.  Each twitch of your finger caused a soft _whirring_ sound to emit from your pocket, it's quiet hum mixing distinctly with the cross necklace that clinked beneath it.

Part of you wanted all of this to be over.  To just drop everything off, answer a few questions, then leave.

Except you knew that wasn't going to happen. 

It hadn't taken much to make you uneasy around the police, their imposing uniforms and unforgiving manner in handling suspects; especially ones who were carted in and out like the station was a revolving door.  You had many memories of being cuffed to a chair in the waiting room, bitter and annoyed as portraits of outstanding officers stared down at you, their cheeks dimpled and proud at whatever medal awarded to them.

Sometimes the cuffs would be too tight, cold steel digging into your wrist and rattling loudly with every move you made.  This always gained you more attention, the lights in the waiting room shining down on you in an accusatory manner while people judged you for being some misguided youth.

You hated it so damn much that thinking about it made your chest tight and your hands shake.  You had to lay your forehead against the steering wheel and close your eyes, the back of your neck prickling as if someone was giving you a very harsh glare.  And just like that, it started to become harder to breathe and you had to open your eyes to gain some scrap of sanity.

Instead you were dizzy and nauseous.

How could you be so naive?  They wouldn't believe you, not with all the crap you've pulled.  All the fights you started, the morose drinking, skipping school, your downward spiral into drugs, and much, much more.

Stupid.  Stupid!  _**STUPID!!**_

You clenched the steering wheel tight and took a few deep breaths, fighting back the fear and anger that tried to overpower you.  Ice seemed to rush through your veins and you felt terribly cold and clammy despite the Louisiana heat.  Sirens roared as a police cruiser pulled out of the parking lot, red and blue flashes blinding your vision as you covered your ears.  Suddenly you could hear a man jeering somewhere in the distance while a woman sobbed off in a completely different direction, all of it a jumble of white noise and nonsense that had no meaning.

The steering wheel acted as your anchor as you tried to calm down, your hands gripping it so tight that your fingers started to cramp and ache.  Sweat trickled down your back while hair started to stick to your cheeks, the growing heat reminding you that Betty had AC.  Shaking digits fumbled with the knobs and series of numbers in a desperate attempt for cool air, but you were too frazzled to understand that you'd turn the car off just minutes before.  You ended up hitting the console in frustration before laying your head against the wheel again, your chest constricting with such pain that it grew hard to think.

Your heart raced like a galloping stallion, yet you couldn't breathe.  Your head spun, but you weren't moving.

The world was a roller coaster and you just wanted off.

Disoriented, you don't remember turning on the car or pulling out of the parking lot.  You can't recall which route you took or if you drove between the lines.  You couldn't even recollect driving into the barn and turning Betty off.

But there was one thing that was hard to ignore, even as anxiety and panic drained away to leave you in an exhaustive mess.  It was the excruciating shame of never leaving your car, never conquering your fears, and always losing no matter how hard you tried.

Perhaps you were simply destined to be a failure...

 

~~~

 

You needed bubbles.

Bubbles that popped as soon as they surfaced and bubbles that released wonderful aromas of vanilla, red rose, blue peppermint, or even green tea.  You wanted them to fizz and burst thanks to the hot water meant to soak away your worries and allow the rising steam to cloud all senses.  You wished to stretch your legs and wiggle your toes, to create tiny currents underwater as you leaned over the edge of your porcelain tub.  You wanted to lay in the hot water for hours and just forget everything.

You practically marinated yourself in soaps, gels, and inexpensive bath bombs that probably changed the water color more then relax the body.  Even if the product labels lied, you could just pretend they were working.  It wasn't until you started to feel the back of your neck grow damp from the constant swishing of water did you finally submerge yourself.  You were careful each time you dunked your head underwater, the blue peppermint soap threatening to sting your eyes if you so much as thought of peeking.  Then you'd breach the surface like a mermaid, smoothing your hair back with water cascading down your body like rainfall.

Long stretches of time passed and the hot water turned lukewarm, prompting you to refill it just so you could relax a little longer.  

_'Just a bit longer,'_ you kept thinking.  _'I need it.  I need it.  I need it.'_   

You repeated this like a mantra until your fingers were wrinkled and your skin slick like butter.  Even your legs grew wobbly from the amount of hot water you absorbed, making it a bit hard to stand as you tried to get out of the tub.  Once steady, you drained the water and cracked your back as you went about your usual routine of going out on the balcony for a long, overdue smoke.

"Ah, **shit.** "  

Except you'd forgotten to buy cigarettes.

"Perfect,"  You hissed and flopped your arms over the white railing.  You glowered at your yard (particularly a certain tire swing) as you waited for a nice breeze to dry you off.  

Sour and huffy, you leaned against your elbows and turned your attention towards the sky, noting it was a bit dimmer out then it had been before your bath.  Instead of bright, wild blue yonder you could see bits of pink and orange peek over the trees as the sun got lower and the night cooler.  Instead of puffy clouds that popped against cerulean, they were misty and flat as they spread all across the sky and promising a blanket to discourage star gazing.  

You were so busy wondering if it was going to rain later that you didn't catch the skidding of tires and a flash of bright red turning down your road, fast and furious as the vehicle navigated the rocky curves of your driveway.  'Sulk' must be your middle name because you were too busy doing it to notice the cherry red gleaming between the twisted evergreen trees.

With a jolt of recognition, you reared back in horror as the vehicle skidded to a stop right next to the barn.

"No...no no no no no!"

The car door burst open and you were blinded by outrageously colored hair.

"Why the hell is _**HE**_ here?!!"

You didn't have time!!  Did you lock the door?!!

Of course not!!

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!!"  You bolted across the balcony, your bare feet slapping against hard cement and scraping some of your heels and toes as you careened to a stop.  Scrambling to the only other door on the catwalk, you looked over your shoulder to see the man almost halfway to your house, grin wide as he gently touched the tire swing along the way.

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit!!"

You pushed hard on the handle then grew furious when you realized the wood had swollen it shut.  

"You sonuva-!!!"  You jumped back, deciding the door needed a little persuasion and flat-out kicked it.  

It swung open hard and fast, the wooden frame creaking while the furniture inside shook from the explosion of force.  The room was dark and cool, most of the furniture barely outlined by the dying light outside, but you've navigated your room in the dark many times and this would be no different.  You snatched up a pair of shorts off the floor and found a shirt from the dresser and hopped to the bedroom door with one pant leg on, too much in a hurry to bother with underwear or a bra.

Buttoned and zipped you flung it open and instinctively leapt over Orange Juice who had been waiting as soon as he heard you break into the house.  You didn't have a chance to stop him as he ran into the room, your focus solely on slipping down the hallway where the wood felt slick beneath your damp feet.  You grabbed the bannister and used it to take a sharp turn, accelerating you in your flight downstairs while heavy footfalls made their way up the porch.

It was a race against time as you caught sight of a silhouette through the door's glass panels.

_Halfway there!!_

The knob turned and the door creaked open.  You didn't think, just jump from six steps up with a battle cry that would make any warrior proud.  The landing was anything but graceful.  Your right foot took the brunt of your fall while your center of gravity said "fuck it" when you started to topple forward.  You imagined face planting into the door, but your body reacted quickly and instead found yourself raising a shoulder like a battering ram against hard wood and patterned glass panels.

The impact made your shoulder ache with pain, rippling and vibrating through your frame like an earthquake.  You could feel your entire torso shudder and your toes curl with displeasure, but you stayed standing by sheer force of will.  Your guest wasn't some pushover though, he had somehow foreseen your plan and hurried to stick his foot through the crack of the door.

A loud curse from the other side made you push harder, but you could tell the small breach was quickly becoming a worrisome chasm as he quickly grappled with the wood frame and pushed back.  You noticed the tip of his pointed boot twitch, yet was too slow to realize he was going to use his body weight to win.  You found yourself being flung back onto the floor as he used all his strength to get inside, new pain going up your backside as you rubbed your tailbone and glared up at your unwanted visitor.

But he ignored you entirely, his grin wide and toothy while he spun his arms around below his waist then jerked upwards where they stayed above his head with a powerful jut of his hips.

"SUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPEEEEEEEERRRRRR★BREAK IN!!!!!"

You instantly covered your ears and began to kick at his legs from your spot on the floor, "You can't just barge in whenever you want, you bastard!!!"

Franky laughed and undid his pose, his leather jacket crinkling back to it's relaxed state while his gold chain flashed briefly against his bare chest.  His shoulders looked broader then ever, making it surprising he could still do that stupid pose in nothing but leather and tight blue jeans.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade comb and brushed back his pompadour, sly grin on his big, dumb face.

"I'm sure Adam disagrees~."

His smug voice made you seethe and your assault on him grew more insistent (if not, sloppy).  You knew this was hurting you more than him judging by the way he just stood and watched while you bounced on the floor at a sorry attempt to add more offensive strength.  Your butt was going to hate you, but if it meant you could get this nosy asshole to leave, then you didn't give a shit.

"Oi, oi."  Franky placed his black boot on your hip and pushed you a few inches across the hardwood floor.  "What's up your butt?"

"Nothing!!"  You stood with a jolt,  "Nothing except maybe loudmouth perverts!!!"

" _ **AOW!!**_ "  In one smooth motion he struck out his hips and threw his arms in the air again, then his foot started to tap as if he were about to dance.

"STOP THAT!!"

Damn it, he drove you insane!!  You couldn't even say a certain word without him exclaiming something or bragging about what he could do.  Not only that, he had this weird big brother complex and insisted on visiting you what felt like twenty times a week.  You'd think you would be used to it considering Franky and Adam had been best friends in high school, but it was hard to have patience when you were having the worst day of your life.

"Hm...?"  His smile fell and he flicked up his glasses, dark-hazel eyes puzzled and a little worried.  "This wouldn't have anything to do with you losing your job-?"

You clapped both hands over his mouth and looked over your shoulder with wide eyes, growing particularly nervous when your gaze landed on the living room.  Amused, Franky allowed you to bully him outside where you shut the door as soft as possible and hoped no one could eavesdrop on you both.

"Idiot!!"  You turned on him, outrage written all over your face.  "What if he heard you?!"

Franky laughed, "So it's true!"

"I didn't lose my job!!"  It was one thing to admit it to yourself, but you sure as hell wouldn't admit it to the world.  You weren't weak!!  You still had a job and you can still fix this!!

"What'd you do?  Did you finally punch somebody?  Gave them a right hook and call them a jerk?"  He quickly stopped guffawing and tried to look concerned as he placed both hands on your shoulders.  "Should I expect a call from their parents?"

You shook off his hands in irritation and glared,  "I didn't punch anyone."

"...What about kicking?  Did you kick someone?"

"No!"

"Well, you're gonna have to throw me a bone here.  Y'know I'm bad at guessing."

You almost cried out in frustration, but instead took a deep breath as you pinched the bridge of your nose.  "Look, Franky, I'm really not in the mood for this.  Can you _**please**_ just go?"

"Aw, don't be that way!"  He flashed you another brilliant smile before reaching down to pick a case off the ground, having placed it by the front door during the 'battle'.  Franky sat it on his shoulder and tapped the red cardboard, causing the glass bottles to clink together while the dark brown liquid swished invitingly.

"I brought you some grade a cola~!"  He grabbed one of the bottles and held it in front of your face like he was dangling a car keys for a toddler.  You couldn't help but feel the red and white _Coca-Cola_ label was taunting you, as if a drink was good enough to make your ferocious temper to settle down.

You gave Franky an irate look and he shook the bottle again.

"Imported all the way from Mexico, just for you!"

Mexican cola?

...

How can anyone resist soda made with real sugarcane?

You were unable to stop yourself and snatched the drink from his hand, appreciating how the glass sat so cool and comfortable in your palm.

"Ass," You harrumphed.  "You order these for yourself."

Franky laughed and grabbed a bottle of his own, popping off the top with just a flick of his thumb while the cap bounced and rolled off the porch.  You watched the soda bottle slowly empty as he guzzled it all down, little drops of water sweating off the glass from the combination of cold soda and humid nights.  Your own drink cooled your forehead as you pressed it there for a bit of relief, your annoyance quickly ebbing away as cold perspiration soaked into your skin.

You couldn't help but admire Franky.  One word around town about your misfortune and he drove out of his way to bring you a damn coke.  Something so simple shouldn't make you feel better, but the memories of sharing these every summer with your brother and his friend made you nostalgic and easy to please.  He just knew you too well.

Finishing off his first of many drinks, Franky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and peered at you curiously.  "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," You opened your drink, still reminiscing as you took a small sip.

"Hm."  He nodded then motioned you to follow him down the porch steps, taking another bottle for himself and flicking the cap off into the gravel.  "C'mon, girlie.  Let's go have a look at Betty."

 

~~~

 

Other then needing new airbags, there really wasn't much to look at.  Betty was in top condition despite her old age thanks to Franky's constant visits and desire to keep your vehicles up to date.  You didn't bother stopping him, not when he did it for free.  The big gorilla owned a successful auto shop in town, one so well-known that people all the way in California and New York called to ask for his help.  You weren't sure how much he made, but considering he owned a scrap yard to build things for fun, you were positive he was making bank.

Franky grew especially attached to Adam's bike, putting in years of blood, sweat, and tears into each oil change, tire rotation, and battery upgrade.  He even went so far as to help your brother replace the engine on the motorcycle and overhaul it to go faster then the original model.  Of course, there were times you had to fight him off with a stick if he dared thought to add anything too drastic, but you knew he cared deeply for the thing.

As soon as he closed Betty's hood you could tell he was excited to check up on the cycle.  Just the way he skipped over to the vehicle and he patted it like an old friend made it impossible not to smile.  You watched it all from your perch on the work table, taking the occasional drink of your cola while Franky tinkered and talked about this and that.

You listened to him for the most part, enjoying the chit chat and letting it distract you from your awful day.  Most of it was about cars, but all of it interesting.

Once he deemed Adam's bike acceptable, you both walked back to the house to talk some more.  It was completely dark out and crickets were now mixing it up with the cicadas, the sounds were so loud that it was a wonder you could hear Franky at all.  You felt something tickle your cheek and you thought it was the wind at first, but then a tiny glowing orb danced in front of your eyes and you realized the fireflies were out.  They mingled and floated lazily around the yard, mostly congregating near the front porch where light filtered from the windows.  You couldn't help but think of them as little lamps, all guiding you towards the front porch like a night parade.

Franky shooed a few away from his face and headed over to his corvette, popping open the trunk and pulling out two more cases of cola with an enormous grin.  You rolled your eyes and followed him back to the house, the bottles clinking against one another while Franky hummed a little tune.

Instead of turning left towards the living room, you both went right where an entranceway led right into the kitchen.  This part of the house was noticeably smaller then what you would see in an average plantation home.  Whereas most country kitchens were wide and generous with counter space, this one was as wide as a trailer and just as long to boot.  You weren't sure what happened, but you figured there'd been some remodeling done in the past considering the walls and cabinets looked much newer then the rest of the home.  You personally didn't mind, no one in your family really knew how to cook, so anything fancy would be wasted.

The entire right side of the kitchen was lined with granite counter top, light-grey and almost blending seamlessly into the white wooden cabinets if it wasn't for the darker flecks of color littered here and there.  Above the counter was a line of windows, each an ordinary four panel glass that allowed a view of the barn and that nefarious tire swing.  

Along the bottom edges of the windows were bits of foliage slowly flourishing up and blocking some of the view, their tiny green leaves waving hello every morning and goodbye every night.  Sometimes wildflowers would pop up during the spring and grow along the outside of the window frames like an enchanted garden, colors bright and glorious despite attracting the nastiest of bugs.  The counter space itself wasn't very large, most the room used up for the sink and stove top that only had one working circle for pots and pans.  The rest of the space was used for a breadbox and a few jars of sugars, spice, and flour; most of it a bit too cluttered to properly use.

On the left side of the kitchen was a single pantry cabinet that housed cans of food and sauces, along with a couple boxes of your favorite cereal.  The bottom part even had a few dusty cookbooks, but you never really bothered with those.  This fixture was more towards the back of the kitchen next to the refrigerator and a door that led to the backyard.  Closer to the entrance was a modest table with two chairs, all sitting flushed against the wall to allow more walking room.  They weren't anything special, just white oak that clashed nicely with the dark hardwood flooring.  

The room was humbling compared to the rest of the house, which only made you love it more. 

You both settled down at the table and continued your earlier small talk, artfully dancing around the subject of your job and what it meant for your future.  He was good at this, helping you forget your hang-ups while making you laugh, shoving drinks in your hand, and actively caring.  Franky could sense your insecurity, no matter what kind of tough act you pulled, he just knew.  

Hours passed and you both go so wrapped up in your conversation that you didn't start to feel guilty until you realized it was half past midnight.  Franky didn't notice how your face fell as he continued with his story, pounding the table heartily as he got to the best part.

You wanted to hear the rest, but the longer he made you smile and the later he stayed...the more selfish you felt.  

"Franky..."

He stopped talking and stared, your head resting against your palm as you gazed out the window where the fireflies hovered and bumped into the glass panes.  You could hear a lone frog gurgle right under one of the windows and you grinned, tipping one of the empty bottles with your finger.

"It's kind of late.  Don't you have to get up early?"

There was a long, awkward pause before he spoke in a voice that you could only describe as brotherly affection.  "You gonna be okay?"

You laughed, though it was clear you were uncertain. "You kidding?  I always feel great after kicking you out."

A large hand grasped your head before you could stop him and coarse fingers ruffled your hair, tangling the strands into tight curls as you snarled and pulled away rebelliously.

"Jackass!"

Franky stood, letting his sunglasses droop over his crooked nose as he gave you a wink.  "I'll see you tomorrow, girlie."

You scowled as he began to walk out of the kitchen, "You better not come here tomorrow!!"

"Don't forget to buy new airbags!"  He didn't even turn as he left, the front door opening and closing as his vibrant energy seemed to leave the house dim and lonely.

You stared at the door for a while and listened as an engine roared to life and headlights flashed across the windows then fade away.  Gravel pitched across the yard as tires spun and it wasn't long before you were left with nothing but chirping bugs, a lonely frog, and your own nasty thoughts.

Drained, you rubbed your eyes and stood, ignoring the several empty bottles littered over the table and the responsibility of throwing them away.

Not today.  Not right now.

You shuffled out of the room like some zombie, body heavy and mind numb as you passed the stairs and went straight to the living room.  Orange Juice was lazing on the couch with his belly upturned and paws folded as he purred with immense pleasure.  You stopped to stare, wondering what he was so happy about until you noticed the bits of red on his lips and chin.

A small wave of agitation came and went as you plopped down next to him, his pudgy body bouncing on the cushion as he quickly turned over to blink tiredly at you.

"You ate my chapstick."

His eyes slowly closed and he purred, his tail thumping hard against your leg as you poked his stomach.  "Fat ass.  Stay out of my room."

You frowned at the sound of a door opening and turned to see the front door undisturbed.  Then you realized the sound had come from the kitchen, which meant someone had come through the back.

"Damn it, Franky."  You jumped up and stomped towards the kitchen, ready to pummel the ass for using the back door.  He probably thought you'd lock the front as soon as he left, so opted to sneak in the back to do something....something Franky-ish!

Whatever it was, you already hated it.

You wished the kitchen had a door so you could kick it open and scare the jerk for thinking he could continue to break it.  Sure, you left the doors unlocked all the time, but that wasn't an open invitation!!  

"Franky, I swear to god if you're streaking in my house-!!"

You turned sharply into the kitchen and raised your fist in a threatening manner (it's always better to come out swinging).  It took three steps inside before you jerked to a stop, two seconds to realize this man wasn't Franky, and one glance downwards to realize he was, indeed, naked.

"W-What?!"  You stumbled sideways into the kitchen table, the soda bottles shuddering while one fell over and another rolled onto the floor.

You had to pull your eyes away from his junk only to get caught staring at his chest, spotting muscles that looked both supple and toned from years of hard, physical labor.  He was tall too (a weakness of yours), standing lithe around 6'6" while his arms seemed oddly long, as if related to a daddy long legs.  Your gaze raked over this for a moment, but more so along the middle of his torso where a long thin line seemed to rise all the way from the abdomen to his throat.

His stubble started around beneath his chin, sparse as it spread up to a trimmed goatee and windswept hair that looked like ink against the shadows of your kitchen.  He had birdlike features, yet a small, straight nose that seemed to balance out the hawkish gaze set so firmly on his face.

Then you realized his eyes were **gold** and you reared back a little in shock.

This exotic man was John Doe, your John doe!!!

You could see his chest rise and fall, know his heart was pumping fresh blood through his veins as he stood completely healthy despite you _**cutting him open.**_

He was alive...  Holy shit he was alive!!!!

You gripped the table as his eyes shone bright in the dark, feeling a creepy coldness wash over you skin like goosebumps.  His mouth frowned and he took a step towards you, intent on- _on doing something!!!_

Instincts took over as you fumbled with the neck of an empty bottle, your pupils dilated and your grip tight as you smashed the butt of the glass against the table's.  Glass shattered and spilled onto the floor and drops of leftover coke splashed on your hands, reminding you to take a deep breath and stay focused as you held the broken bottle out like a knife.

He paused, obviously not expecting this kind of response.

You sensed his hesitation and ran with it, "Step any closer and I'll gladly cut you open a second time!"

John Doe studied you, a slight tilt in his head as if a bird studying it's breakfast as it wiggled for dear life.  You kept your glare harsh and you your hand steady, refusing to show any fear as what you thought to be a dead body stood in your kitchen.

And then, on one of the shittiest days of all existence, the worst happened...

He stepped forward.


End file.
